


Down Time

by fadedink



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, canon ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-29
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-21 18:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/903628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedink/pseuds/fadedink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After long days and sleepless nights, Chuck has a ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down Time

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because [azewewish](http://azewewish.livejournal.com) showed me pics of Rob Kazinsky in a tub and demanded fic.

_Enjoy these next days, Rangers, they'll be over soon enough._

Stacker's words ring in Chuck's ears as he settles in the tub, flinching only slightly at the coldness of the rim. It's a sharp contrast to the heat of the water, so hot that steam rises in lazy tendrils to dampen his hair, slick his skin. He lets it seep into him and relax tense muscles.

After all, there's not much he can do until the alarm sounds. So he's going to take the down time as exactly that: _down_ time.

He sits for a moment, looking at the mounds of white froth covering the water's surface, but not really seeing it. His mind is still too busy with Operation Pitfall, turning in circles as he tries to think of all the 'what if's'. It's only when he catches himself thinking 'what if they fail' that he realizes what he's doing.

"Stop it," he says, wincing a little at how loud his voice sounds in the silence. Then he laughs, because there's only Max to hear him, and Max doesn't care. He just glances up at Chuck, makes that snorting sound he always does, and goes back to sleep.

***

Another day gone, Chuck thinks as he looks up at the war clock. It's still flipping off the hours and minutes, counting down humanity's remaining time. The relentlessness of it is enough to drive Chuck crazy if he thinks about it too much. So he tries not to.

But it's hard to keep it out of his head when it's all they've known for so long.

Ten kaiju kills, and all he can think about is the next one. The big one.

The one that will determine the fate of humankind once and for all. Which would be a little arrogant if Chuck didn't know how true it was. He's heard Geiszler and Gottleib. He knows what's coming.

Multiple kaiju at once, and the PPDC is down to two Jaegers: Striker Eureka and Gipsy Danger.

One piloted by an old man and an asshole, the other by a has-been and a rookie. Chuck doesn't have much faith in either, but he knows it's all they have. God help the human race.

Shaking off the dark mood, the black thoughts, Chuck draws another bath. With more bubbles. Because he can, and because he's going to enjoy himself if these prove to be his last days on Earth. No one can blame him for that.

***

There's a new bottle of bubble bath on the counter the next time Chuck steps into the bathroom, and he cracks a smile in spite of himself. He's known for awhile that Herc knows about his not-so-guilty pleasure, but it's the first time his dad has actually done something about it.

The new bubble bath has a spicy scent, sharp and sweet all at the same time, and Chuck inhales deeply as the fragrance fills the room. He's still smiling as he sinks down into the tub. The water is this side of too hot, turning his skin pink, but he's okay with that.

With a quiet sigh, he relaxes back against the tub and closes his eyes.

The training session on the Kwoon floor had been brutal, and Chuck can feel it in his bones. He needs this, even if it is the middle of the night.

So he relaxes, allowing himself to drift as the tension seeps from his body. The only time he moves is to drain the water as it cools and replenish it from the taps. He might just spend the rest of the night there.

His sense of time is shot, and all he knows is that his fingers and toes are wrinkled beyond hope, when a cool breeze touches the back of his neck. It doesn't register for a second, and when it does, Chuck tells himself that it's just Max waddling in to check on him.

But there's no sound - no clickclickclick of claws on the floor - and Chuck finally opens his eyes half-way. He blinks and frowns, processing the sight in front of him, sure he's finally nodded off and is dreaming.

Because Raleigh fucking Becket is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, watching him.

Chuck wants to ask what Raleigh is doing, but he's still not entirely sure he's awake. The whole thing has a slightly blurry, surreal quality to it.

Maybe it's the heat.

Maybe he's actually dead because he'd been stupid enough to fall asleep in the tub and has drowned.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Raleigh asks, and his voice is so soft that Chuck isn't sure he's heard him right.

"Um," he says, because it's all he can think to say. Maybe this isn't a dream, because he's never had any problems talking to people or telling them to fuck off when they're annoying him.

Chuck doesn't even like Raleigh, but damned if his mouth will form the words telling Raleigh to get out and leave him in peace. Not that Chuck thinks Raleigh will actually listen, because he hasn't listened to a word Chuck has said yet, but still. The principle of the thing and all.

Raleigh chuckles quietly and pushes from the doorframe, moving deeper into the room. That's when Chuck notices that Raleigh is barefoot and rumpled, hair sticking up in the back, shirt wrinkled beyond hope. He slides a little lower in the tub, thankful for the extra bubbles that he'd added with the last water replenishment.

"I couldn't," Raleigh says. He props one hip against the counter and picks up the bottle of bubble bath, examining it for a moment. Almost like he's trying to avoid Chuck's gaze. "I don't sleep much. Not since Alaska."

"Insomnia sucks," Chuck says, because he knows. It's something all the pilots know, even if they don't discuss it. You can't look in the face of death like they do and still sleep easy.

You don't willingly walk up to creatures that can kill you in a hundred different and new ways without it leaving some sort of mark. And dreams are always the first to go.

Raleigh just nods as he sets down the bottle. His head turns, but he's still not looking at Chuck. Towards him, yeah, but not at him. Like maybe he thinks that if he looks directly at Chuck, he'll disappear.

Which would be funny if Chuck wasn't sure it was the truth.

"Why're you here?" he asks, when he really wants to tell Raleigh to get out, to leave him in what little peace he can find to enjoy the rest of his soak.

There's a long moment when Chuck thinks Raleigh isn't going to answer. Then Raleigh shrugs. "I don't know."

It might be, Chuck realizes, the most real thing he's heard out of Raleigh's mouth since he got to Hong Kong.

***

It's the middle of the night again, and Chuck is exhausted. They're four days out from the last attack, and tension is mounting, tempers are flaring, and Chuck just wants it all to be over.

He's got one foot in the air, preparing to step into the tub, when a soft sound behind him makes him whirl.

Raleigh _fucking_ Becket. _Again_.

Like Chuck hasn't put up with enough shit today, between the beating he'd taken in the Kwoon, Herc being bloody Herc, and the Marshall being so goddamn bloody single-minded about Operation Pitfall. None of which is Raleigh's fault, true, but he's interrupting Chuck's down time.

So Chuck stands there, glaring at Raleigh, making no move to cover himself. This is his time, and if Raleigh isn't bothered by the sight of Chuck's goolies on full display, Chuck isn't going to be arsed to hide it. It's not like casual nudity has ever bothered him. It's hard to care if other people see your naked body once you've drifted. In the drift, everyone is naked, and Chuck's been drifting since he was fifteen.

Neither of them says anything. They just stand there, looking at each other, before Raleigh moves, stepping forward in silence.

Chuck looks down to find that, once again, Raleigh is barefoot. And just as rumpled as the previous night. Almost like he had tried to sleep and had ended up tossing and turning. Much like Chuck does on most nights.

Raleigh stops a few feet away, like he's not sure of his welcome, and then he stuffs his hands in the pockets of those ridiculously baggy trousers he favors. "Care for some company?"

"Suit yourself, Rals," Chuck says, and the nickname slips out, making him freeze in a half-turn. He doesn't look at Raleigh, doesn't dare. They're not friends. They don't even _like_ each other. Yet the nickname had slid from Chuck's lips like it had always been there.

And Chuck _can't_ look at Raleigh because there's too much in the air between them now, and Chuck isn't entirely sure what it is.

But Raleigh just says, "cool," like this sudden shift in the mood is no big deal, but it is. It's a very big deal - or it feels like it _should_ be a very big deal.

But maybe it isn't. It feels so normal that Chuck stops over-thinking it. He just steps into the tub, hissing as he sinks down into the water, releasing a soft sigh as his muscles start to unknot.

He slides down until he can rest his head on the rim of the tub and looks at Raleigh. Who is still standing in the middle of the floor, hands in his pockets, head down, hair spiking all over in a ridiculous way that makes him look ten years younger than Chuck knows he is.

It's a good look on him.

"The water's fine," Chuck says, surprising himself and shocking the hell out of Raleigh if his expression is any indication. "And it helps."

"Does it?" Raleigh asks, recovering just enough to flash a somewhat shaky smile.

"It does," Chuck replies, lips quirking in a small smile of his own, water rippling around him as he sits up. "Cheaper than a bottle of vodka and much nicer to you in the morning."

The quip draws a short, surprised laugh from Raleigh. It's a good sound. He reaches for the hem of his shirt and stops to look at Chuck, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

"Go on," Chuck urges softly. He's curious now, admitting it even if only to himself. Sure, he's seen Raleigh on the practice floor, clad in black trousers and a tank top that molded to his torso, but Chuck has never seen him vulnerable.

Which is exactly how Raleigh looks now.

Raleigh opens his mouth and closes it, swallowing whatever it is he was going to say. Then his shirt comes off in a swift motion, and Chuck is almost disappointed. The least Raleigh could do after invading his down time is put on a bit of a show.

But Raleigh turns to face him, fingers already sliding beneath the waistband of his trousers, and Chuck forgets everything but here and now. He can see the scars marking Raleigh's torso, souvenirs of Anchorage and Knifehead, and Chuck almost reaches out to touch them.

With a small motion, like he's still unsure of his welcome, Raleigh steps closer. His gaze locks with Chuck's. Chuck just grips the edge of the tub tight and nods.

The sleep pants come off with a bit more production than the shirt, and Chuck isn't the least surprised to find that Raleigh goes commando. He knows Raleigh is waiting for a sarcastic comment, but Chuck just looks at him, drinking in the long lines of his body, the flex of firm muscle as he moves.

"Well, c'mon then," Chuck says, sitting up a little more and sliding further back in the water until his back is pressed tight to the end of the tub.

Raleigh doesn't speak, just steps into the tub and sinks down until he's sitting between Chuck's spread thighs, his back firm against Chuck's chest. It's awkward at first, the two of them shifting until they're both comfortable, but the awkwardness fades with a surprising suddenness.

Chuck loses all sense of time as they relax together, the silence broken only by Raleigh's movements as he lets out the cooling water and refills the tub, adding another splash of the spicy bubble bath. His head falls back against Chuck's shoulder when he's done, and Chuck takes advantage of the moment.

The kiss is lazy, languid, almost painful in how honest it is. It might be one of the most honest things Chuck has ever experienced, and he knows that should scare the bloody hell out of him. But he just relaxes into it, giving himself over to the moment.

Raleigh's skin is slick as he twists, gliding against Chuck, his hands touching all of the parts of Chuck he can reach, and Chuck returns each caress, their hands mapping, exploring. Strong hands, rough with warfare and wear, drift lower and stay. It's simple, assuming nothing, and Chuck slides into his release mere moments after Raleigh.

***

They'd been tangled together in Chuck's bed, both lost in their dreams, when the alarm had sounded, signaling the beginning of the end. They'd dressed in comfortable silence, neither feeling any urge to speak. There hadn't been any need.

Chuck had lost sight of Raleigh when they'd hit the floor of the Jaeger hanger, but he could see Gipsy Danger. The lady was turned in her berth, as if she was looking towards Striker Eureka. Chuck hadn't been at all surprised to find that Striker was turned as well, head lifted high like the big guy was returning the lady's look.

That had made him smile just a little.

But the fight wrenches him back to the present, and he doesn't need to look at Stacker to know this is it. They're too damaged to drop the payload into the Breach. And Gipsy Danger is too damaged to hold off the kaiju for them. Then Raleigh points out that Gipsy Danger herself is a walking payload.

Nuclear reactor.

_No_ , Chuck wants to say, but he doesn't. They all have a job to do, regardless of what he knows he now feels for Raleigh. Too little, too late.

_We can clear the way for the lady_ , and Stacker is right.

Chuck looks at him, nods, ignores the protests coming from Raleigh in his ear. It's the only hope they have. And if Herc had taught him nothing else, he'd taught him that if you have a chance...

"You take it," Chuck says, still ignoring Raleigh's voice, ignoring the pleading not to do this, they'll find another way.

Instead, Chuck looks at Stacker again and nods.

There's no countdown.

No final hurrah for the conquering heroes.

There's simply a shared look and the knowledge that they're still in the drift, that neither of them will die alone.

Chuck can smell spice, sharp and sweet in his nose, taste sunshine and sweat on his tongue, see a sweet smile and bright blue eyes in his mind, and he holds to that.

He holds tight, breathing a prayer, and there's a flash of white.

A flash and -


End file.
